Chapter 9: A Princess and a Pixie

Arthur strode into the long vaulted receiving chamber, through the sunlight drifting through the windows along one wall and onto the polished-wood floor. He wasn't late. Uther himself was only reaching the head of the room, the trio of steps leading up to the dais; therefore Arthur was not late.

Orryn fluttered behind him, trying to pin Arthur's ceremonial knight's cape correctly at his shoulder; Arthur brushed him aside. He didn't care if the surprise visit meant his new manservant had time only to throw the cloak over the clothing he'd meant to ride patrol in, instead of chainmail. He also didn't care if their company realized that.

"Arthur," Uther greeted him distractedly, looking over his shoulder toward the doors at the far end of the room; Orryn finally took the hint and dropped subserviently to the background with other gathered on-lookers. "It is an exciting day."

Exciting. Not the word he would have chosen, but Arthur didn't see the point in arguing with his father. "The arrival of Lord Godwyn is always a cause for celebration," he stated neutrally.

"And Princess Elena," Uther added. Suggestively. And that was enough to arouse Arthur's suspicion. "I hear she's something of a beauty."

"Really," he said only.

"Oh, yes." His father still hadn't met his eyes. "Beautiful, charming, witty… strategic."

"Strategic?" Arthur said, in disbelief. What in all hells was going on?

"I have always thought so, we have always thought so. That is, Lord Godwyn and myself." Almost, he would characterize the king as flustered. "That is, he finds you strategic, not Princess Elena."

Strategic. And Uther flustered. "Father, are you trying to say –"

"Lord Godwyn is a serious ally. The strength of such a match cannot be underestimated."

Arthur deliberately turned his back toward the empty doorway waiting for their guests, and stepped into his father's line of sight. "You are trying to coordinate my marriage to Princess Elena."

Uther met his eyes, finally. "I knew you'd understand," he said, with definite relief.

"It's not going to happen." Arthur had rarely been more sure of anything in his life; he was through being manipulated, pressured and coerced into something he didn't agree with.

The king gave a soft impatient snort. "Arthur. It has not escaped my notice that you have been uncharacteristically morose lately."

"Morose," Arthur enunciated deliberately.

"I have decided that it is high time you stopped indulging this irritability and turned your attention to what's best for Camelot, establishing the line of succession."

"So you're planning not only marriage, but family as well." Arthur lifted his eyebrows; he didn't know whether to be amused or furious.

"It should serve as a distraction for you, as well," Uther said. "You need cheering up."

All right. Furious it was. Uther expected him to forget the events of three short – and endless – weeks ago, with a wife? The thought made him ill, and he spoke without concern for the imminent arrival of guests.

"I hardly see how my attitude is any of your concern," he stated. The ache in the region of his heart – because a father should care for what affected his son's moods – was distant. "Have you any complaint to make over the discharge of my duties?"

"No, Arthur, of course that's not it," Uther said placatingly.

"Has the quality of training or the morale of the men suffered?" Arthur pressed. He had focused very deliberately on doing his absolute best in all that was required of him, busying himself so that he could avoid thinking or feeling as much as possible.

"No, but that's not the point – Godwyn!"

Arthur turned as his father strode to meet the visiting ruler, a benevolent gray-haired man with a square jaw and a heavy brow – and an even heavier crown.

"Uther!" the other greeted him as the two unreservedly clasped each other's upper arms. "Oh, it's been too long."

"Princess Elena," Uther turned to the frowzy blonde with a vacant expression in an unflattering lemon-yellow dress. "You are most welcome." He reached for her hand – and the girl fell flat on her face before Arthur could so much as twitch in reaction.

She looked up with a sheepish grin, clambering to her feet like Mer– like a common village urchin would, smoothing down her gown with the energy of a busy laundress.

And he was expected to – Arthur roused himself from the rebellious turmoil of his thoughts, at the appearance of Sir Leon at the open doors at the far end of the hall. They had returned early? The knight caught his eye, nodded significantly, then slipped away again.

"I apologize, my lords," Arthur spoke up into the banal generalities the other three were exchanging; even Morgana was holding herself aloof, though that was characteristic of her these days. "I must see to the report of the morning patrol which has just returned." Uther turned toward him with irritation in his expression, opening his mouth for a refusal, Arthur anticipated. "And, to make sure the servants have their preparations for our guests' accommodations well in hand. If you will excuse me –"

"Of course, Arthur," Godwyn said sympathetically; Elena just looked uncomfortable. "Duty calls – no, Uther, young men are busy men, you remember those days as well as I… plenty of time later for…"

Arthur spun on his heel and stalked from the chamber, hearing Orryn follow him; at the corner he turned toward the guest quarters alone. He took the stairs two at a time, and glanced out the side window down to the courtyard to see Orryn just emerging; he would direct the delivery of the baggage being unloaded in the courtyard. The man was so damned efficient all the time, it made him feel a bit… lonely. He shook his head; odd word to come to mind.

He turned down the corridor to the guest chambers; his feet followed the leading of his heart and increased pace at the sight of the maidservant. "Guinevere."

She turned in a swirl of pink-peach skirts, and her face lit up in a gentle smile as she waited for him to catch up with her.

"You've given them the best guest quarters," Arthur added. Not because it was necessary to ask; Guinevere was as efficient and thoughtful in her way as Orryn was, but wise and brave enough to speak up, too. And it was a decent conversation opener, much better than the awkward how are you doing they'd used for the past fortnight.

"Everything's arranged," she assured him. "Princess Elena can't fail to be impressed." He nodded, hoping he kept the echo of his reaction in the receiving chamber from showing to her on his face – while simultaneously wishing he could speak to someone – "What is it, Arthur?" she went on, a fine wrinkle appearing between dark eyebrows. "You seem troubled."

Arthur sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "My father had some surprising news for me. He expects me to marry Princess Elena."

"Marry?" she said, stunned. Because there hadn't been a hint, or a whisper – that he'd been aware of, at least – in palace rumor, that this occasion was being planned.

A sudden desire to touch her – even just grasp her hand for a moment – made him sway toward her in the corridor. "I'm not going to," he said, and hoped it sounded as much like stated determination as he wanted it to, and not like a childish denial of the inevitable. He shook his head, trying to articulate his thoughts. "He thinks to distract me from whatever mood I've been in of late."

She set her jaw and shifted her weight, and he interpreted.

"It's been that noticeable?"

"Probably to people who care about you enough to observe it," she said, and a moment later her cheeks pinked as she realized what she'd said. "I mean, of course we all care about you – you're the crown prince after all, and who wouldn't –"

He took her hand, and she bit her lip.

"If I did, if I married her, what would you do?" he said softly.

"I will watch you grow into the king Camelot deserves," she said, "as it should be."

Her eyes glinted with unshed tears, and the thought struck him, fair or unfair – Uther had taken Merlin, a friend who was brave enough to be honest, to say what Arthur needed to hear, not just wanted to hear. A friend to them both; Morgana wasn't that sort of friend anymore, not since they'd recovered her after her abduction. He couldn't lose Guinevere, too, and she didn't deserve the sort of distance he'd have to impose on their friendship, for the sake of his marriage to someone else. He wasn't going to let his father dictate his relationships, anymore.

He rubbed her fingers. "You know I can't be rude to our guests," he said. He regretted that they had traveled the distance, when it would for nothing; he regretted Elena's feelings, if they were hurt – but mostly he was angry with his father for initiating the whole thing. "But… guests, is all they will ever be."

"And allies," she added in a near-whisper.

Reminding him, maybe intentionally or maybe not, that it was a delicate situation, and to be handled so. To give no offense, in getting his own way – as long as it was the right thing, too.

He smiled, and even though the quick heavy tread of several servants approaching with the baggage of the guests could be heard behind him, he raised her hand to give her knuckles a quick kiss – which in turn raised the color in her cheeks again – before taking his leave.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The night was still and serene. Clear; Merlin could see a few stars through the canopy of leaves overhead. Another wakeful night, though at least this time it wasn't due to discomfort; the pain in his hands had long since dulled.

Tonight, he could feel the latent magic of Avalon, even at a hundred-pace distance.

Gwaine was snoring lightly; reminded of their earlier conversation on the shore of the lake, Merlin couldn't help a wry smile and twitch that mimicked shaking his head while it rested on his pack for a pillow.

"A lake!" Gwaine had exclaimed, the moment the silver surface shimmer was visible through the trees. He'd dropped his pack on the grassy verge and shucked his jacket, reaching for his belt.

"What are you doing?" Merlin said, confused by his friend's reaction to a privileged glimpse of a sacred place.

"It's a lake. I'm going for a swim."

"The hell you are!" Merlin said, through laughter he couldn't quite deny.

"A bath at least?" Gwaine pleaded with an impish grin.

"Absolutely not."

"What makes this place so special, then," Gwaine said. He refastened his belt but made no move to retrieve jacket or pack, sitting down to recline back on his elbows and stretch out his legs. "Aside from the whole gateway to the beyond thing."

Merlin gazed across the water toward the mountain, bare of snow in the second month of summer, listening to the little waves by his feet lapping at pebbles and reeds. It was peaceful, now, and reminded him more of the second time he'd come here, than the first. The pain of letting go and admitting failure was a faint echo, bittersweet; the love he'd felt for her and from her, however, remained in the bedrock of his soul.

"I fell in love once," he admitted.

Gwaine, to his credit, did not seem surprised. "Good for you," he remarked. "Who was she?"

Candlelight sparkling in dark eyes – a beautiful sweet sad smile…their kiss… Merlin answered after a moment. "A druid."

Gwaine made a noise of cheerful enlightenment; he'd probably guessed what Merlin hadn't said – Merlin's magic would never have been an issue between him and a girl of the druid people. Not like it would be if he'd fancied any other common girl. "She loved you back, I expect? What happened?"

Her tears, her loneliness and fear, her pain and humiliation when she knew he'd discovered the truth… He'd been planning to leave Camelot and Arthur – he'd been packed to leave. And now… he had left. He took a deep breath and let it out. "She was cursed," he told his friend.

"Literally cursed," Gwaine said for clarification, and Merlin nodded. "I suppose I don't want to hear details. Any more than you want to tell them, yeah?"

"No," Merlin said softly. "It… well, it resulted in her death. I brought her here at the end…" The breeze whispered through his hair, against his skin, soothing him. Soothing the longing he still felt faintly, for that simple life of ordinary love that was never meant for someone like him. The destiny that felt meager consolation, at the moment.

Gwaine sat up, draping his elbows over his knees and gazing across the water. "I'm very sorry it didn't work out for you," he said contemplatively. "I… never met a girl worth remembering."

"I was lucky to have known her," Merlin said quietly, half to himself. I wish you were here – though the thought was melancholy fancy, not serious desire.

"Do you want to camp here?" Gwaine asked.

"No, not just here… but close."

Merlin closed his eyes, now at almost midnight, and breathed deeply. The place was to his soul like the best of Gaius' balms and healing potions.

Perspective. He'd mourned death here, he'd caused death here, and like so much in his life since his arrival in Camelot – it all led back to Arthur, in the end. To magic, and to shared destiny, to the purpose of his gift.

To protect Arthur, who would someday play a part in the freedom of magic. How or when, he didn't know. There would be a way, he believed, for him to protect Arthur. Even isolated from Camelot, even with only Gwaine – and occasionally Gaius – for help. It could be done, because it must be done, and if he had to wait for years for another chance to show Arthur the truth about the nature of magic, he'd do it, because he firmly believed, if – no, when – Arthur realized the truth, he would do the right thing. End the persecution of innocents, allow those with magic to learn and to use it for the kingdom.

Years, maybe. But he'd do it, whatever it took, he'd –

Merlin bolted upright, his body gasping for breath through a shock like ice-cold water flooding his veins.

Avalon, he knew instinctively. Someone was activating the portal. Calling the sidhe – he'd felt it before, racing through the forest trying to reach the pair who had abducted his prince before Arthur's soul could be sacrificed for Sophia's immortality.

Shivers raced along his spine, rippling and crossing – excitement, apprehension – power, and the question of why… He was on his feet and slipping through the trees, ever closer, before rationality could even consider both sides of the decision.

The surface of the lake glowed misty blue. He entered the pocket of paused time naturally, unobtrusively, another creature of magic creeping forward to observe unobserved. Each step was a heartbeat. Each moment a free and capricious sprite flitting, splashing, enjoying a private and incomprehensible revelry.

Now, he was reminded more of the first time he'd been here. And there was a figure on the bank.

Merlin stepped cautiously to the side, staying hidden – the price of his life no doubt required instantly if he was discovered, and by a king he feared more than Uther for cruelty and caprice – and crouched to see her.

Or… it?

Clearly not human, with skin a sickly mauve, dotted with large black moles; the ears and nose were three times the size of a person's, and pointed. As were the teeth. And both twists of coarse black hair, side by side on the creature's head above the ears like a pair of horns.

It bowed, fawning, and Merlin's attention was drawn to the single tiny blue being hovering stationary in the air. The staff in his hand – no bigger than a twig but exquisitely deadly – was all the identification Merlin needed. The sidhe king.

"I sincerely hope you bring me good news." The voice was rough and growly, but high-pitched, and carried across the water just fine. Probably it helped that all other sound was frozen in time, also.

"The fathers are committed to the match," the dumpy purple-skinned being said. Merlin ventured a guess at female, and kept listening. Not his business, but then again, everything that happened in Camelot was his business, wasn't it?

"We have waited many years for this moment," the king said. A reminder, or a warning, maybe?

"It's only a matter of time, your esteemed majesty. You have been most patient, your esteemed majesty."

Crouched hidden behind his tree, Merlin made a face to himself. The creature was a bootlicker of the first order – only sidhe didn't wear boots, their long web-toed feet were bare, the better to dip into the lake – he shook himself. Probably if he worked for the sidhe king he'd grovel, too.

"And the girl?"

The creature simpered a bit, an ugly sight. "She has no idea that a fairy lives inside her, just waiting to emerge." Merlin winced in sympathy for the unlucky unknown – then froze in horror at the king's response.

"But that cannot happen until her marriage to Arthur is complete."

Wait, what? His blood felt slow and cold as lake water. Who were they talking about? Arthur would only marry Gwen, but Merlin would have known if there were a fairy inside Gwen – many years, they said, so no – unless the prince was enchanted. Again. He tightened his grip on the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark growing in vertical grooves, grounding himself in reality. Why had Arthur stayed in Camelot, instead of riding out with the patrol.

"And it will be soon, I promise you," the creature was reassuring its master. "Then you will have what you most desire. One of your own at the heart of Camelot. A sidhe for queen."

Oh, for the love of all that was holy.

Merlin kept his place as the creature released the magic; the glow faded to the bare glimmer of midnight, the dancing sidhe once again hidden from the mortal world. He listened as it trundled through the underbrush toward Camelot, then pushed upright and followed, slower and quieter.

Two plots at once? The witches wanted Arthur kidnapped – no doubt to make Uther vulnerable, though they surely could mean Arthur no good, either. He doubted they'd simply return him to the throne to begin his retaliation as king, for their crimes. And now the sidhe wanted him married, then dead.

And Merlin himself probably needed a good night's sleep.

Well, he thought ruefully, we all want what we can't have.

Too bad he couldn't set the sidhe and the witches at each other's throat, and lay low with Arthur until the war blew over.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

As early as Orryn came into Arthur's chambers, he often found Arthur awake. If for no other reason than Arthur often found it hard to sleep.

That morning, Arthur had his choice of sleep-stealing issues to focus on.

Elena he'd worry about later. In about… three hours, when he'd invited her for a ride and a picnic he was not looking forward to. But he owed her – and Lord Godwyn – for the time they'd spent traveling, and the close alliance they had with Camelot, to give it a go. To look like he was giving it a go.

Because he was sure his father had not accepted the conversation at dinner last night – private, as their guests were given their first night to recover from their travels before a more public banquet the next night - as final.

"Lord Godwyn, as you know," Uther had lectured – it had been an uncomfortable topic even without Morgana listening avidly in – "is not only a very good friend of mine, but a long-standing ally of Camelot."

"I have nothing against Lord Godwyn. I've nothing against Elena, except marriage," Arthur had stated calmly. Focusing on consuming his meal, steady and deliberate though he couldn't now remember tasting a single bite. "And if the alliance is long-standing, it should not need our marriage to confirm it."

"When we talk about your future, Arthur, we're not just talking about your personal happiness, but the safety and security of the whole of Camelot."

Safety and security, Arthur thought again, drumming his fingers on the pages laid in front of him on his desk. Of the whole of Camelot.

"You may one day be a husband," his father had gone on – and Arthur's involuntary glance at Guinevere, serving table for the three of them, had probably been noted by Morgana - "but more importantly, you will one day be king."

"Yes," Arthur had said deliberately, his heart pounding, though he tried to smooth all signs of agitation. "Yes, I will. And, if you consider me old enough for marriage, father, then I think it is high time you stopped treating me like a child… and expecting me to behave like one."

Silence in the room. Guinevere's eyes were wide as she clutched the wine jug, Morgana's and Uther's both similarly narrowed.

"I beg your pardon," the king said stiffly.

"You invited Godwyn and Elena without saying a word to me about the visit or its purpose," he said, laying down fork and knife to grip the arms of his chair unseen below the edge of the table. "You inform me that my duty is to marry, in the middle of a crowded receiving chamber moments before we welcome guests – quite possibly, you thought to force cooperation by having the conversation in public?"

He did not say, like you had me drugged to appear agreeable to my servant's execution for magic. With an effort, he did not say it. Did not look for a spark of guilt showing in his father's gray eyes.

"I am not a child to be shamed into obedience without argument, to do what I'm told simply because I'm told," he went on. "I am aware of the safety and security of Camelot, it is my highest concern. But, this is my life. And I will not marry someone I have no feelings for – with all due respect to Godwyn and Elena, I will be as honest with them about the matter as with you."

Uther's mouth was dropped open, a bit, and he was speechless. Morgana looked shocked – grudging admiration mixed with inexplicable irritation, he thought, but her reaction was not his concern at the moment.

"I intend to treat every guest you invite to Camelot with all courtesy and respect," he said, pushing his chair back from the table in preparation to depart. "But there will be no wedding, and if you will not explain the misunderstanding, then I most certainly can. Good night, Father."

He'd been lucky, he thought cynically, watching Orryn smooth wrinkles from the red velvet coverlet on the bed, to have been allowed his own room, unlocked. But perhaps Uther was finally realizing that his son had grown up, and was going to demand treatment accordingly – or perhaps he simply didn't want the embarrassment of informing their guests that Arthur was unavailable because he had been arrested until he complied with the royal will. He wished it didn't have to be like that. He wished he could earn his father's respect instead of demanding it by return threat. He hoped that such conduct wouldn't characterize him, in future, it was too much of his father's attitude for his comfort.

Arthur didn't bother asking if Orryn had everything organized. He already knew the answer would be, of course. The servant seemed to take it as a personal failing if he hadn't already done whatever chores Arthur ordered. He turned his attention somewhat unwillingly back to the reason for his sleeplessness, the pages on his desktop.

On top, Sir Leon's report of the patrol he'd missed yesterday morning, greeting visiting royalty. Intended for Arthur's eyes, primarily, and because a chance for them to discuss it privately was unlikely, it held a distinct note of apology, for something Leon had said nearly three weeks ago.

What if he's been doing this sort of magic for years…

Six knights had returned without so much as a scratch or bruise, from an altercation where they were outnumbered three to one, and taken by surprise. They hadn't been able to ascertain the identity or motivation of their attackers, but Arthur read between Leon's lines quite well.

Mercenaries. And at least one – possibly a leader – had shouted, "He's not here!" prior to a hasty retreat.

Not really a surprise that he as prince might have been a target for abduction. More worrying was the idea that the group might have obtained confidential information, about the route and Arthur's intended accompaniment, though spies were not entirely unexpected in a royal court.

But what bothered Arthur were the details. Gathered perhaps in a quick glance before the knights assured their safety with a quick return to Camelot, but… Two enemies shot with arrows, at least one body observed with a knife in his back. When the knights defended themselves, in this skirmish at least, solely with swords. Leon had personally observed two of the enemy slipping, tripping, and another losing his grip on a weapon in an accident that became fatal for the man beside him.

Hence the apologetic note. Leon regretted hinting that Merlin was guilty of more than the witnessed incident – good fortune seemed to smile on the knights even though… even after… it seemed their inexplicable good luck was just luck.

"Will there be anything else, my lord?" Orryn said, polite and subservient, hands folded in front of him and head ducked respectfully.

"No, not right now," Arthur said. "I will see you in the courtyard, midmorning."

"Yes, my lord."

As the door of his bedchamber closed carefully behind the servant, Arthur shifted Leon's report to see the page underneath. Even though he'd nearly memorized it, in his need to make sense of it.

How long have you been using magic?... I don't know.

When did you start using magic?... I don't know.

Who taught you?... Nobody.

Where did you learn it?... I didn't.

All the way down to, He killed both the griffon and the questing beast with a single spell.

If it was a pack of lies. Why? Why would Merlin say such outrageous things if it only made Aerldan hurt him more? Why would he tell lies after promising Arthur he'd tell the truth? Unless he had been out of his mind – but Arthur hadn't seen or felt or believed that, in the few minutes he'd had with Merlin.

If it was the truth. No, impossible.

Which left, maybe, some truth and some torture-driven fantasy.

Maybe it didn't matter, since Merlin was dead. Maybe he should put the whole sheet in the fire and try harder to forget.

But. A very faint and irrational voice said, What if. As insanely impossible as it was, a sorcerer able to kill creatures the size of a house and a sorceress that had been powerful before Merlin was even born… and yet, executed by a king who allowed no magic?

That block. If Merlin had more magic than a spell to allow him to snatch an enemy's sword, that block would have made him helpless. Except, when Gaius removed that thumbscrew. What happened, exactly? Powerful magic? But not from Aerldan - nor the rune itself, that made no sense – which left only…

Though, the state Merlin had been in… his hands… no, probably escape had not been possible, as badly hurt as he'd been.

Arthur had avoided Gaius. He'd admit it. Before Merlin had come to Camelot, Arthur had gone to the physician's chambers occasionally in a fit of boredom or the interests of learning a bit more battlefield aid for his men, if injury or illness dictated – which wasn't often; as crown prince he rated having the physician summoned to him, if necessary. But in the course of Gaius' duties, he often stopped to talk, walk with him a ways, and after Merlin's arrival, he'd gone more often, usually in search of a tardy or absent manservant.

The last three weeks, he hadn't needed a physician. Hadn't wanted to see grief for Merlin when he looked at Gaius. Had hoped, rather, that these persistent I-wonder-if's might dissipate and vanish and he'd gradually realize he thought of his former servant less and less and with diminishing regret, but.

He sighed and snatched up the page, crumpling it in his fist. But instead of turning to the fire, he turned to the door.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin leaned against the table below the window in his bedroom as the sky lightened toward dawn.

The room was dusty and closed-smelling; he smiled a bit sadly to himself. It was obviously no longer in use. As he waited, he crossed his boots at the ankle, his arms over his chest – though his hands lightly gripped his upper arms instead of tucking underneath them, for the sake of three still-healing fingers.

Gaius hunched over the book open on his knees as he sat on Merlin's bed, mumbling to himself as he scrutinized the recipe, grumbling something about the witches of Meredor. Three hours they'd spent - after Merlin had woken his mentor carefully and kindly, ignoring his demands and threats over the idea of Merlin sneaking back into the citadel to tell the more urgent news – going through Gaius' books for a solution.

It was a faint relief, to theorize that the visiting princess, Arthur's intended, was not actually a sidhe, but a changeling, and the more potent threat was the pixie masquerading as her maidservant. Merlin shifted his weight, leaning a bit on the staff retrieved from under the floorboards beneath his bed, now tucked into the crook of his elbow. If defense was required when they forced the fairy out of Elena – the only logical course of action that seemed open to them, as once again they couldn't go openly to king or prince with their information – at least he wouldn't be taking the girl's life, this time. Hopefully, without Arthur around to defend enchanted love…

"Has Arthur been alone with her?" he said aloud. "Have you seen them together, and does it look like he's infatuated with her?"

"Not to my knowledge," Gaius said shortly, without looking up. "No, and I would doubt it – a person whose heart is already given, as you say Arthur's should be, is more resistant to the majority of love spells and enchantments."

Good. At least Gwen would be left out of it, this time.

"How is he… generally?" Merlin ventured. Angry? Happy? Anywhere in-between?

"I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask, after Arthur's state of mind," Gaius told him without looking up. "I haven't really spoken to him about anything of any consequence in private for… over a fortnight." Merlin watched his finger trace down the list copied on the page, wondering what message he might infer from Arthur's avoidance of the physician. "I am fairly sure I have most of these ingredients," Gaius went on. "But to make this potion I will need the stamen of a dropwort flower, which I do not have to hand, nor can I obtain it easily."

"Dropwort," Merlin repeated, and stepped forward to study the illustration of the flower on the corner of the page.

"They're rarer than a four-leaf clover, grown in boggy and marshy terrain."

Merlin nodded slowly, memorizing the sketch, mapping a few likely areas around Camelot in his mind. "I'll find it today," he promised. "Bring it to you tonight, when Gwaine and I sneak into the vaults through the tunnel in the dungeon."

"Grunhilda will not come until the princess no longer requires her for the night," Gaius reminded him. "That is, if she even accepts such an absurd invitation."

Merlin tried very hard not to smile. "You'll have to make sure it's an offer she can't refuse." The old man lifted a fierce eyebrow, and he hurried on, "What about today? If Elena isn't a threat, we only have to keep Grunhilda away from Arthur, right?"

"I believe I heard that Arthur had invited her to spend the morning riding the countryside," Gaius returned, himself agreeable to a change of subject.

"We'll have to think of a way to get her on her own tomorrow, also," Merlin said. "Once you've got the potion ready." Another night spent awake and working for the old man; he winced in sympathy and apology, but the old man seemed not to notice.

"Hm. And someplace you have safe access to, as well," Gaius added.

"Perhaps another ride?" Merlin said.

The old man shook his head. "It won't be easy; this is not merely a social visit. Uther will no doubt pressure Arthur toward a proposal which both Godwyn and Elena expect as well."

From the physician's chamber beyond came a voice that had Merlin's spine straightening involuntarily, his heart kicking up its pace in his chest.

"Gaius?" It was Arthur. Merlin's mentor gave him an agitated look which he read instantly – he can't find you here.

"I'll see you tonight, in the vaults," Merlin hissed, and even as Gaius nodded, he spoke the spell his mentor had tucked into his palm as he sat in the questioner's chair three weeks ago, once again to quit Camelot for the far forest in an instant. "Bedyrne me – Astyre me thanonweard!"

As the air stirred his clothes with magic and the room vanished in a swirl of brown-to-green, he thought, Gwaine is never going to believe this!

Here we go again.

A/N: PS, sorry I know everyone's kind of waiting and hoping for Arthur to find out Merlin's still alive. That's going to be a slow-ish process and maybe a little longer time in coming… Not because I'm mean and cruel (okay, maybe a little) but because I always planned it that way, and it works best for what I'm trying to do with the story… I think I'm still on track for 18-20 chapters; sorry this one seems like it started with action and fireworks instead of ending with it – but there will be more of that, too…

Some dialogue from ep.3.6 "The Changeling."